


empathy 101

by santanico



Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M, compassion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you have the same range of emotions, then how about touch? What about romantic intimacy?”</p><p>A blunt question to match Dorian’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	empathy 101

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Empatia Básica](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122345) by [Moonshine_Givens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens), [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)



> a fic initially meant to explore john's different capabilities to show compassion that kind of got...out of hand. i don't know what i'm doing anymore. this ship is ruining me.
> 
> edit: wow, i made so many typos, what the hell.

“Hey,” Dorian says, grabbing John’s shoulder and pulling him aside. John frowns and tries to shake him off but Dorian’s dragging him out of the interrogation room and into the hallway, a glare on his face.

“What the hell, I almost had her,” John says, glaring back like it’s a match and pulling his arm free. Dorian crosses his arms over his chest in response, shaking his head.

“You were terrifying her. Her vitals were going haywire – do you even have any idea how to deal with _human people_?”

John feels a spark of anger and he’s about to yell when Dorian raises his eyebrows.

“Dammit,” John says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s a suspect, Dorian, you aren’t _kind_ to suspects.”

Dorian’s hand rests on John’s upper arm and he squeezes, his glare melting into a weak smile. “She’s also a pregnant woman in her twenty-somethings that you found on the street who could have nothing to do with the murder. Just because she knew the man and had a history with him doesn’t mean she killed him. Compassion, man, learn some compassion.”

John tries to ignore how comforting it is to have Dorian’s hand stroking up and down his arm, as the gesture is clearly meant to do exactly that and it’s rather annoying that Dorian knows what to do to make John relax.

John huffs. “Why don’t you go in there and interrogate her? Since you know so well?”

Dorian drops his face to hide a smile but John catches it anyway, and as Dorian heads back into the room, obeying orders, John slumps against the wall with his arms crossed.

 _Learn some compassion_.

“God,” he mutters, “whatever.”

He waits a short ten minutes, though it feels like a much longer length of time – he checks his phone every two minute – until Dorian heads out of the room, holding the girl by the shoulder. She sends John a scathing look and John catches, “Thank you for coming in, I’m sorry about the trouble. I’m going to call Detective Valerie Stahl to give you a few addresses of homeless shelters in the area.”

John watches the girl lick her lips and then smile at Dorian, adding, “Thank you, you’re too kind…” There’s hesitation in her voice, and John fills in the gap before Dorian nods and takes out his own phone to punch in Valerie’s number. _You’re too kind, for an android._ The woman glances at John again and when they meet eyes she looks down again, turning.

John shuffles and puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking down the hall. When Detective Stahl shows up a minute or two later, the woman goes with her with a smile. He doesn’t make eye contact with Stahl either, keeps his eyes low on the ground, only listening as Stahl rubs the woman’s arm and begins to advise her on how to survive the winter.

“I asked her a few simple questions, determined that she wasn’t lying. I checked on her alibi too and it worked out. She was nervous when you were questioning her, I don’t know how you ever managed to be a successful cop in the first place.”

“Excuse me?”

“Er,” Dorian says, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t…mean…that?”

John presses his lip together and crosses his arms, still leaning against the wall. “I can tell when you’re lyin’. You're a god awful liar.”

“Fine,” Dorian admits, straightening. “I think you’re too fiery, that you can be rude, and that you lack compassion that makes a cop trustworthy. I’d be afraid of you if I didn’t know you.”

John blinks and stares Dorian down for a moment. Dorian keeps his eyes trained steadily on John’s and crosses his own arms to match.

John ends up breaking the contact, shaking his head. “Yeah, because I should take advice from a goddamn android.”

As soon as he says it, he knows he’s going to regret it. But instead Dorian just gives him a long look, tilting his head to the side and pressing his lips together. He shrugs and turns, and his nonchalance is somehow worse than being chastised. John follows Dorian with a sour expression.

-

At times, John misses the MX models. Detective Stahl has one, a petite “woman” (John isn’t really sure if androids have gender, and he admits to assuming based on body type – he’s never asked Dorian, but Dorian also never rejects being called ‘him’; then again, Dorian would probably be okay being called anything, because it’s _Dorian_ ) who follows orders to the dot and is always smiling. She seems easy to work with, and Stahl never complains at the very least.

Dorian is different, which is good and bad. John isn’t even sure how to explain “different” because it has a lot of complicated meanings, even to John. On one hand, John can admit, no matter how begrudgingly, that Dorian has made him a better cop. After waking up almost two years after a near-death accident, John had a lot of catching up to do, and Dorian, being who and what Dorian is, found it much easier. Dorian’s technology might have been slightly outdated, compared to the other androids who worked at the precinct, but he seemed, at the very least, able to catch up without much struggle. He could download software updates directly to his head, and his “colloquialisms” make things run smoothly. If John is jealous of Dorian, it’s not because he thinks Dorian is an inherently better cop, but rather, that John doesn’t know how to help himself.

Regardless, their relationship can be tense sometimes. John doesn’t quite trust Dorian, and he sometimes catches Dorian watching him as he drives to a crime scene, as if there’s a sense of yearning behind that gaze. If Dorian wants acceptance, he’ll earn it, but sometimes John can’t help but thinking that there’s something in Dorian’s heart that makes him crave closeness.

John reminds himself that Dorian doesn’t have a heart. It feels satisfying at first, but the relief is replaced by a painful twist in his chest.

“What are you thinking?”

“What?” John picks up his cup of coffee. It’s lunch break, and Dorian is sat across from him at the large circular table in the break room, his hands folded, resting his chin lightly on his knuckles. John drinks his coffee.

“I said, what are you thinking?” Dorian repeats, and the sincerity in his tone puts John’s guard up.

He shrugs.

“That’s not an answer,” Dorian pushes, resting his palms on the table. John turns to pick at his cafeteria French fries.

“I’m thinking that you ask too many questions.”

“I thought we had _rapport_ , John.”

“Don’t mock me,” John chuckles, shifting to his burger. Bacon, cheese, lettuce, tomato. It’s classic. Dorian is still looking at him, tilting his head and frowning. “And don’t look at me like that, damn. You’re gonna drive me to some serious mistakes.”

Dorian clicks his tongue. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I overreach.”

“…Okay, fine. Fine, bastard, you win. I was thinking that you make nervous. Happy?”

Dorian frowns. “Hmm. Is it a good kind of nervous?”

John gives Dorian a long look, trying to figure out if he’s flirting or just being Dorian. Both seems like the correct answer and John tries to sort through that. Do androids flirt? Better question – do DRNs flirt? All things considered, John would have to say yes at this point. Dorian has no problem making vaguely inappropriate comments and making John choke on whatever he’s drinking. John usually just glares and will notice that Dorian smirks to himself, frustrating as it is. He lets out a breath and sets down his half eaten burger, brushing his hands together and finishing his coffee.

“It’s nervous. What else does nervous mean? How can it be good or bad?”

Dorian seems to contemplate the question. “Well, do I make your stomach _turn_ or _lurch_? Words are important, how you describe things is important. It’s part of being good at questioning, or as you’re so fond of saying, interrogating. I want to be respectful of you, and everyone else. That’s why I was kind to that woman the other week, the pregnant one? Because she’s just a woman and she’s a person and she deserves my respect just as much as you do.”

“Well,” John says, and decides to go for it, “what about you? Do you inherently deserve respect by virtue of existing?”

Dorian seems surprised but he smiles. “Every living being deserves a certain amount of respect and compassion, John. I think you understand that, to a point.” John looks down at his plate and itches with guilt. “I think you also misunderstand what respect is about, and how being respectful to all people is important. Even if they’re not the people you like, such as suspects, or MXs, or even DRNs like me.”

“You –” John starts, but catches himself. 

“You what?” Dorian asks, his tone clearly faked to sound light.

“Nothing,” John says, “it’s nothing.”

Dorian nods. “Well, it’s time to get back to work, yes?”

John swallows and picks up his plate and mug. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It is.”

-

He can feel Dorian watching him, again, and although it makes him nervous (it makes his stomach turn, he notices, not lurch), it doesn’t change what he does or says. The girl is no older than eight and she cries, staining her blue dress with tears. He sincerely feels sorry for her and her missing father, a man in his mid-thirties who worked for a technological advertisements company that was going out of business. He hopes that they can find out if she at least has any family they can contact, and that her father is alive.

He calls her _sweetheart_ and she sniffles. He knows his face often looks stony (Stahl comments that he has a bit of a scary appearance but when he smiles, it becomes clear just how much warm he carries), but he manages to keep himself relaxed, hands on the desk and held down in a welcoming gesture.

“Do you know if your dad got any weird phone calls the day before he disappeared?” he asks in his softest voice. The girl sniffles, shakes her head.

“He got a video call though,” she says through tears. “I thought he just…went out.” She glances over John’s shoulder at Dorian and shifts back in her seat. “He told me he was meeting someone, and he said not to open the door for anyone, and I didn’t, I swear I didn’t, but then – he never came home, and he didn’t answer his phone when I called him, and I didn’t know what to do…” The girl dissolves into small sobs and John has to take a deep breath to keep his shoulders from clenching.

Children, he thinks, are the hardest to handle. Their tears are almost always real, a source of unbearable pain. Their innocence cuts at John’s core, reminds him of his own childhood. Of having two parents, then one, then none.

Those are things Dorian doesn’t know.

John promises that he and his partner are going to try their very best to make sure her father is alive. He thanks her for telling him about the video call and then asks, realizing suddenly – “Did someone come by your house after your father left that night?”

The girl nods and sniffs again. He grabs a tissue and sets it on the desk in front of her.

“There was knocking. The doorbell rang, twice. I hid under my bed, ‘cuz Daddy didn’t say anyone was comin’ over so I was scared. Then I called him, but he didn’t answer, so I went to bed. The next morning I called the police…”

“You did a good job,” he says, and the girl picks up the tissue, using it to wipe her nose and then her eyes. “Two really great detectives are going to take care of you until we find your dad or get in contact with your uncle, okay?”

“Uncle Sammy lives real far away.”

“It’s gonna be fine, just know you’re safe here, alright?”

“Okay.”

Satisfied, John stands up and gives the girl one last smile, but she’s watching Dorian again. He sees Dorian nod and he takes Dorian’s arm, leading him down the hall.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Dorian blinks and turns his gaze forward. “I’m running through what the girl said. Why are you so good with children, Detective?”

John notices Dorian calling him _Detective_ and frowns but doesn’t comment. “Who knows?” he lies and Dorian raises his eyebrows. “Fine, okay, I don’t know? They’re easier to connect with. They don’t lie. They’re innocent. They’re always so goddamn – innocent.”

“What were you like as a child?” Dorian asks, and the swing in topics sets John’s head running in circles.

“What? I don’t know,” he says at first. “I was rambunctious and angry. I thought the world didn’t understand me. I was like every kid back then.”

Dorian looks up and seems to be calculating. “Yes, you would have been in your teens in the late ‘20s. Seventeen in 2028, yes? Sorry to be so precise.”

“Yeah, just remind me that I don’t have a life ahead of me.”

“They were hard times. Technology was on the brink of complete renovation, and your generation was mocked and sneered upon and considered even more useless than the last. Odd, I find it, but who knows.” Dorian shrugs. “Do you empathize with children because you have a strong connection with your own childhood, or because it’s something you wanted but could never have?”

“What, kids or a childhood?”

Dorian pauses. “Both. Whichever fits better.”

They reach John’s office and he sits back at his desk. Dorian hovers in the doorway, waiting for an answer.

“All three.”

“Oh. Interesting.”

Dorian’s cheek processes whatever information in blue lights that John finds mesmerizing. He looks away. “I can explain to you how this works one day if you’d like,” Dorian says, pointing to his face and turning his head. “It’s actually quite fascinating, though perhaps you wouldn’t find it so interesting yourself.”

“Is that a jab?”

“Don’t gripe.”

“Is _that_ a jab?”

Dorian smiles. “We should go to dinner sometimes.”

“What? Like a date?” John snorts. “We’re on the clock, buddy, you can’t be asking me out right now.”

“Well, what would you rather I do?” Dorian says. 

“Just don’t mock me, alright? That should be enough. And get back to work.”

“You can be kind. You can be compassionate. You just have to remember that every human you’ve ever contacted was the same as that little girl once. Lost, afraid, lonely. It’s your job as a cop to help her. To help all of them.”

“Don’t tell me what my job is, okay?”

“Okay.” A beat. “So, I’ll see you for dinner?”

“Fine.”

Dorian steals out of the room, god knows where to, and John forces himself to focus. Dorian definitely just asked him out to eat even when John tried to steer him away.

-

Dorian wasn’t joking, as he’s sitting in John’s car, all buckled up, when they get off their shift.

“Where are we headed?” Dorian asks and John shakes his head.

“Home. I’ll make some burgers. I’m too tired to go out.”

“That’s fine with me.”

They ride together in silence until John says, “Why are you so obsessed with who I’m kind to?”

“Because if you aren’t a person who I believe can be a good partner, then I shouldn’t waste my energy and neither should you. I apologize if I’ve overstepped any boundaries.”

John licks his lips and wonders why the important conversations always seem to happen while he’s driving. “Well, look. I’m not that great of a person. I was in a coma for seventeen months, I lost my leg, my girlfriend disappeared and now I’m starting to think she might have been spying on me the whole damn time. It’s a little disorienting, and it’s early in the game.”

“I know that, John.” Dorian’s voice is quiet and John closes his eyes for a split second as they sit at a stop light. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing.” He pauses. “Me, too.”

Quiet again. John places his hand on the gearshift and steers with his left hand.

Dorian places his hand on top of John’s.

John doesn’t twitch.

He continues driving, Dorian’s thumb rubbing over his knuckle. A gesture of trust, of solidarity. Neither of them says a word, the appreciation unspoken, and when they get to John’s apartment John leads Dorian inside with care. They step into the elevator and stand together, closer than usual, and their knuckles brush.

Intimacy – he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until Dorian had started dropping these little hints. Hand touches that weren’t necessary, lingering squeezes of John’s shoulder. It’s almost like Dorian had been on a hunt and John had only just noticed.

Knuckle against knuckle. The simplicity of it shouldn’t be so good.

The elevator dings and John steps out first, fishing into his back pocket for his apartment key. He opens the door towards the end of the hall, listening to Dorian following behind.

“You can talk, you know,” he says after a moment of silence when Dorian closes the door and remains on the outskirts of the kitchen. John pulls hamburger meat from the refrigerator and a pan from under the stove, which he turns on to high heat. “I don’t mind.”

“I know,” Dorian says with a timid smile that John only notices because he dares to glance over his shoulder. “I apologize.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

Dorian hesitates. “I don’t know. It just seems like the right thing to say, in this situation.”

“Don’t think too much,” John says, dropping the slabs of meat into the pan. He picks out a spatula and presses each patty down. “I didn’t even think to ask you if you ate.”

“You know I eat. Occasionally. I have taste. It’s probably not as good as yours, but I have taste, and I have ways of disposing of waste.”

“Alright, alright,” John says with a chuckle, “there’s still such a thing as too much information, okay?”

John almost hears Dorian apologize before he manages to cut himself off. “Got it,” he says instead, now standing in the doorway. “Etiquette is something I sometimes have difficulty understanding,” Dorian admits.

“Do you like cheese on your burger?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go figure. Why not.” John opens the refrigerator again and pulls out a packet of processed cheese slices. “Luckily for you, these won’t affect your performance the way they affect mine.” He laughs. “I need to start going to the gym more often…”

“Well,” Dorian says, “I could go with you.”

John glances over his shoulder. “…Thanks.” It doesn’t quite fit, but the sincerity is there and Dorian means well.

Dorian smiles. John puts the cheese on the burgers to melt after flipping them twice. The silence is comforting instead of tense. He appreciates Dorian’s ability to do that, as strange and unreasonable as it sometimes seems.

“Do you think,” Dorian says as they sit down, two burgers laid out on plain white bread buns, “that you are lonely now?”

John slathers his burger in ketchup and takes a large bite, chewing for longer than necessary. He sips his glass of water, then takes a longer gulp, allowing the question to settle in his gut.

“I’m very lonely.” The admission feels like a cold front.

“I believe that’s the most honest you’ve ever been with me, John.”

“You’re probably right.”

Dorian looks down at his burger and then takes a bite as well. John tries to keep himself from overanalyzing every movement of Dorian’s but it’s hard and he has to refocus on his own eating. But Dorian chews, swallows, wipes his mouth with a napkin, drinks water as if he’s truly thirsty.

 _I was made to feel._ The words ring through John’s head.

“If you have the same range of emotions, then how about touch? What about romantic intimacy?”

A blunt question to match Dorian’s.

Dorian seems to be lost in thought for a moment. “I imagine my reactions are similar to yours,” he admits after a moment, taking another bite of his burger. He chews and drinks from the glass of water, then shrugs. John considers the handholding in the car, the touches in the elevator. What they implied, to John. “I don’t particularly know. I am built like a person, John. I work in many the same ways. I feel every range of emotion, from love to hate.” Dorian glances up and then back down, shuffling in his seat.

“What does love feel like, to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh. Hm.”

“I’m lying.”

John lets out a snort. “Of course you just come right out and tell me that. Of course you would.”

“Or, I care about you, in a way I’d say is…close to love. Deeply.”

That bit catches John off guard and he almost spits up his water. He manages to swallow and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Dorian, goddamn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ, just…” John trails off and shakes his head. “It’s okay, it’s fine. You just surprised me, that’s all. Hey. Hey, man, look at me.”

Dorian does so.

John loses whatever he was going to say. “…Finish your dinner.”

Silence settles.

-

Whatever changes between them after that night, John can’t quiet explain. They don’t stand too close together and Dorian – is avoiding him. It’s the only way John can put it, that Dorian is downright avoiding contact.

“Hey,” John says, grabbing Dorian’s arm after an arrest, back at the precinct. “Great job, man. You really knew what you were doing out there, you’re getting much better.”

Dorian gives a curt nod. “Thanks, Detective. Hello, Detective Stahl.”

Valerie smiles at John and Dorian in turn. “You going to celebrate?” she asks, reaching back to pin her hair up. John realizes that Dorian has pulled away and headed down the hallway and he frowns.

“Sorry,” he says, turning back to Valerie. “No, I don’t have any plans.”

Valerie smiles. “Is he mad at you?”

“I don’t really know,” John admits, relieved at the change of subject. “He called me detective. He never calls me detective.”

Valerie shakes her head. “The good thing about the MX models is that they’re so logic based and rule oriented that the worst you get is a scolding. That’s what mine does. She doesn’t like when I don’t follow protocol. The captain’s had to call me in a few times too, since the MX reports back to her, regardless.” Valerie laughs. “Dorian’s gotta be a hundred times worse. And you did something, if he’s really angry. You should go after him.” She points down the hall. “If you don’t, it’ll just get worse. Let ‘em stew and eventually they’ll find some way to get under your skin or…leave.” Valerie gives him a look.

“…Well, thanks, Detective Stahl.” John clears his throat. 

“Just call me Valerie, we’re not on duty.”

John nods.

“You can go, John.”

“…Uh, yeah, er. Thanks.” John gives her a half-wave and heads down the hall after Dorian. He can hear her laughing behind him.

John catches up with Dorian in the parking lot. “Where the hell are you going?” he yells and Dorian turns around but keeps walking, backwards. John can’t help but think he’s going to walk into something or someone and make an embarrassment of himself, but then he remembers that Dorian can sense everything.

It takes some effort to keep up, and he curses under his breath when he realizes he’s starting to hobble.

Dorian slows down, his expression changing.

“What do you want?”

“This ain’t a romantic comedy, okay?” John says, falling into step with Dorian beside him. Dorian turns around so they’re both walking in the same direction and it makes things at least a little more comfortable. “You kind of admitted to loving me and it got awkward and now you’re angry that it’s awkward.”

“Is it awkward?”

“Oh my god, don’t pull that with me. Do you think I don’t feel the same? That’s the obvious answer.”

Dorian flinches.

“That is it, dear god. You think I don’t care about you.” He grabs Dorian’s wrist and they both stop. There’s a coffee shop a few yards in front of them, a movie theater down the street. Cars streak by and honk at each other, and a man bumps into John with a low apology.

“You’ve been questioning my compassion, and I know I’m not perfect, god, I’m far from it, but Dorian…ya gotta believe me.”

“Believe what?”

“You’re important. You’re really damn important.” John means it, more than he’s meant it in a long time. It isn’t that Dorian reminds him of Anna – it’s that Dorian is so different from everyone else around him. Valerie is kind, the captain is stern but she’s compassionate, even Detective Paul has a few redeeming qualities. But they’re all on a different level, unable to connect, unable to perceive. Dorian _perceives_ , and he does so deeply, beyond anything that John’s ever imagined. Dorian isn’t special – Dorian just is.

Dorian just stares at him, frowning and confused. “You let me put my hand on yours. And touch your hand in the elevator. You made me dinner.”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s what I’m saying.”

“But you’ve made no other contact.”

“How blatant do I have to be?”

“How much do I matter?”

“Enough.”

“How much is enough.”

“Do I have to kiss you?”

“That would be one way.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Then do it.”

John swallows. Dorian is challenging him – it’s in his voice, in his expression. Stone. Dorian doesn’t betray a single emotion.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

John steps forward and, a hand on the back of Dorian’s neck, pulls him in for a kiss.

Just the press of lips. Dorian’s mouth feels more real than anything has in a very long time.

“That was a very bad idea,” John says as he pulls back, though his hand lingers on the back of Dorian’s neck. “We’re like, less than a block away from the precinct.”

“Could you be fired? Maybe I’d be decommissioned. Again.”

John cringes. “Let’s not go there, okay? Let’s go home.”

“Home,” Dorian says like it’s a foreign phrase. Still, he follows John to his car without arguing.

-

This time, the apartment feels safer. There’s tension, as there always is with some newfound relationships, but John can put up with it. He and Dorian move around each other with a certain lack of grace, spend time talking, sitting in the quiet. Dorian discovers the small library of weighted hardbacks that John has been collecting in the guest bedroom.

“John Grisham? Really?”

John snorts. “Don’t judge, he’s a good writer. Was.”

Dorian shrugs. It’s entertaining to watch him peer at the books, fascinated by their physical form. “I could download these copies, for free, in seconds. What made you pick up on collecting them?”

“Dunno, I guess. Mom used to collect books, they were still very popular when I was a kid.” John leans against the door frame and shrugs his shoulders, watching Dorian stroke the spine of a newer copy of a newer book, embossed with gold. “I mean, before the technology really took off. I don’t have a problem with that, with books either way. I just think the copies are fascinating. They’re nice to look at. Just wanted some things to remember, and to remember my mom by.”

Dorian nods. “I think I can understand that sentiment.”

“Hey, it’s gettin’ late. I’m gonna shower. Make yourself at home.”

Dorian looks up and nods again.

John takes fifteen minutes to shower, looks at his own scruff in the mirror and figures he’ll shave in the morning. It’s a Friday night so maybe he won’t even do that much. Picking up his clear pair of boxers, he’s hyperaware of the fact that the synthetic leg doesn’t retain moisture. Even in the shower, the drops had sort of managed to avoid the steely gray new area of his body. John tries not to think about it as he pulls a t-shirt over his head and rubs his towel over his wet hair, heading back into the bedroom.

Dorian trails in a few minutes later.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Is smiling bad?”

“I’m self-conscious.”

Dorian frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Because I didn’t used to have this.” John jerks his chin down towards his leg, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor.

“Do you consider it a disability?”

He shrugs. “It’s painful, sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Most of the time.” Dorian’s expression softens. “God, not the pity. Anything but the pity.”

Dorian shakes his head. “It’s not pity, John. You’ve been through some very traumatic circumstances. I don’t blame you for having your self-worth shattered.”

John snorts. “Very feel good, thanks.”

“Apologies. I cannot empathize with your situation, I admit, but what I mean to say is that you have every reason to have difficulty with the leg. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Come to bed with me.”

Dorian takes off his jacket and his shirt. He sits on the edge of the bed at first, as if contemplating, and then lays down besides John. John stretches out and Dorian rolls over.

“Are you going to fall asleep?” Dorian asks in a quiet voice. John shrugs and looks at the ceiling.

“Off,” he murmurs, and the lights in the room dim and then turn off. The ceiling fan slows down until it’s only circulating the air around the room in slow circles. He and Dorian breathe together in the dark.

“You will learn,” Dorian says in a whisper. “Kindness will come to you, as it comes to us all.”

“You a philosopher now?” John asks, just as quietly, but he’s smiling.

“I just mean to say that you can be defined by your actions.”

Dorian’s hand finds John’s in the dark, but it’s probably not hard for him. Their fingers intertwine.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that your hands are warm. And steady.”

Dorian moves closer and their knees bump. Dorian’s still wearing his jean, making John feel naked. Dorian breathes against his neck. “What are you thinking now?”

“That you’re flirting. That you want something.”

“Does that scare you?”

“No.”

Dorian’s hand rests over John’s heart, reading his pulse unnecessarily, all things considered. John doesn’t mind.

“Your heart is beating faster but it’s not out of fear.” Dorians lips brush over John’s ear and he turns his head. “Do you like this?”

John makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Being intimate…with me?” Dorian coaxes, his hand traveling down John’s chest and under his shirt.

“Yes.”

“Can I touch you?”

John lets out a breathless laugh. “You already are.” Dorian’s hand stills and he seems about to remove it when John backpedals, “Yes, yes you can. Please, touch me.”

Dorian nudges his nose into John’s neck and John can feel him smiling. There’s something about lying on top of sheets in the dark that makes John feel completely relaxed, and the heat between them is undeniable. He doesn’t think because thinking would make the situation impossible, and the situation is real. Dorian is really thumbing over John’s left nipple and sliding his hand down John’s side, holding onto his hip. 

“What are you going to do?” John asks, biting back a moan.

“I don’t know yet,” Dorian admits, kissing John’s neck. “What do you think I should do?”

“Kiss me.”

It blows John away how easily they slide together, Dorian rolling over on top of John’s chest and spreading himself out, arms on either side of John’s head as he presses their mouths together again. These kisses are more full and open, not like the one in the street, not like the three they shared in the elevator on the way up that had been out of curiosity more than anything. Dorian kisses now with absolute certainty and heat, and pulls back only when he has John breathing heavily.

Dorian moves again and asks, “Where’s the lube?”

“I…there’s some in the bedside table drawer.”

He sees Dorian smile in the dark – his eyes have adjusted enough that he can make out most everything. Dorian reaches over and opens the drawer, shuffling around until he pulls out a bottle with a snap top. “Looks good.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, you said kiss me, and now _you’re_ going to fuck _me_.”

“That…escalated.” John’s hands are on Dorian’s hips and he doesn’t remember that happening. His cock is hardening.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

Dorian smirks and sits up, unzipping his jeans and pulling them off along with his underwear.

 _Anatomically correct_ , John agrees and swallows. Dorian looks nothing if not human, and as he pulls his jeans off completely and settles back on John’s lap, sliding John’s boxers down his thighs. Everything seems to be coming together just as well as it should.

Dorian starts by coating his hands in the water-based lube, and then he leans down and wraps his fingers around John’s cock. John tries not to jerk at the touch but groans when Dorian takes the head of John’s cock into his mouth.

“Too much,” he manages and Dorian pulls back, grinning. “Dammit.”

“Sorry,” Dorian says, but as he pumps John’s cock slowly it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. “I just wanted you to be prepared.”

Dorian sits up again and gets more lube on his hands, wrapping his fingers around John’s cock again to continue jerking him off. John is almost able to catch his breath before he sees what else Dorian is doing – fingering himself.

“Is that necessary?”

Dorian shrugs. “It doesn’t feel _not_ good, and I figured you might enjoy the show.”

John tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in the back of his head that says that Dorian knows him too well, but regardless, he has to admit it’s true. Watching Dorian is fascinating, because Dorian’s reactions are earnest.

“I’ve never done this before,” Dorian admits, “but I have learned about it. You wouldn’t believe what’s on the Internet.”

“Don’t test me on that,” John says under his breath and Dorian laughs, breathless himself. He’s rocking back on his own fingers and keeping up his steady grip on John’s cock at the same time. It’s a mesmerizing rhythm and John has to blink to focus without losing his own mind. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” Dorian whispers, smiling as he removes his fingers from his ass and crawls a little closer, on his knees, to John. “Are you ready?”

John snorts. His first thought is _I was born ready_ but he doesn’t say it, just nods. He thinks, by the look on Dorian’s face, that Dorian senses what he was thinking anyway. “Are you?” John asks. Worth being sure.

“Definitely,” Dorian confirms, and, hand still around John’s cock, positions himself.

John can only gasp and groan as Dorian sinks down on his cock, sitting back and inching down. The head of John’s cock presses inside of Dorian and he’s surrounded by heat, and there’s nothing about it that he doesn’t believe. Dorian feels perfect, and he feels like Dorian, and it’s enough to make John choke. His hands cling to Dorian’s hips, fingers digging into where there would be bone. It’s a relief, at least, to know that he’ll never leave sustainable marks. At the same time, it’s a little disappointing.

Dorian rolls his hips, starting to fuck himself on John’s cock. John closes his eyes and relishes the warmth and comfort of being inside of Dorian, his cock sliding against flesh in miraculously slow strokes. John doesn’t even have to move his hips, because the friction caused by each of Dorian’s slides of his hips and ass is perfect.

“Dorian,” John gasps, and Dorian hums above him as if pleased by the reaction. John is too overwhelmed to react properly, hard to believe he’s here, laid out flat on his back with Dorian on top, making quick work of John. Dorian is totally focused, every movement he makes set out to feel perfect. John wants to fuck harder and wants to be _fucked_ harder, similarly, but he isn’t sure how to communicate that, still lying down and his body quivering, orgasm coiling itself up and through his being.

Most of Dorian’s pleasure seems to be derived from watching John, and something about that, in turn, drives John’s hips up further, makes him cant and thrust and push his head back into the pillows. He’s still holding onto Dorian but there’s nothing left to lose, nothing he could think or that could even gross his mind that would change the way every nerve ending on his skin is on fire –

John grunts – gasps – moans _Dorian_ once more without thinking – and comes. He wants to grab, to hold, to experience the closeness, his body collapsing back against the bed. Dorian gets the hint, rolls off of John without a word and settles in beside him, allows for clinging. John isn’t thinking straight, doesn’t know what to do as his mouth sucks on Dorian’s throat, hands traveling up and down his shoulders.

“It’s okay, John,” Dorian whispers, his own hands resting in the crevices of John’s back, keeping him close. John twists, yanking his boxers up and reaches down to palm Dorian’s cock but Dorian stops him, holding him tight for a moment and rubbing circles into his inner wrist. “No.”

John doesn’t ask, and as his leg pulses with discomfort, he caves to exhaustion.

-

It’s not a normal morning after. Dorian doesn’t make pancakes and neither does John – instead, John eats a bowl of cereal while Dorian sits across from him, reading one of the books from the 1900s that was on the top shelf of John’s mini-library.

“You better put that away when you’re done,” John says, but he only half-means it. He doesn’t care what Dorian does because he trusts Dorian too much at this point. “Those are long out of print.”

“They’re amazing, John. A very intriguing habit. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

“I’m not surprised.”

The silence is, however, not awkward. Dorian scans the pages, maybe not quite reading but absorbing some kind of information. And he does put the book away, as asked, right in the exact spot he had taken it from.

“Can we…do this again?” John asks later in the morning, around ten. He isn’t sure why Dorian is still there, but they’ve been lounging, Dorian drifting on the couch while John watches the news on the lowest volume setting.

Dorian shifts and sits up enough to look at John, folding his arms over his chest. “Do you mean last night?”

“You know I mean last night.”

Dorian half-smiles. “You seemed to have a good time.”

“The question is – did you?”

Dorian pauses and considers. “I don’t quite understand the act of sex, I admit. It seems very primal when done between humans, more primal than between animals. You seem to have…kinks, as they call it?” John groans and Dorian gives a short laugh. “I don’t mean to be insulting. I was created in your likeness. And it was…nice. But I prefer the intimacy of being close to you to the physicality of it. I appreciated your enjoyment, as well.”

“That seems unfair.”

“I can assure you, it isn’t. I wouldn’t agree to sexual intimacy if I did not enjoy it.”

“Dorian…”

He laughs again. “You say my name so gruffly. I admire it.”

John glares.

“There you are. Treating me with respect. I admire that, as well.”

“It’s basic decency.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’ll think on that,” John says, “but you didn’t really answer my question.”

“I would be apt to doing it again, at some point. Like I said, I’d prefer…” He pauses, his cheek lights up blue. “Cuddling. That’s the word I’m looking for. I’d like to cuddle.”

“Alright, alright. Fair’s fair. No pressure, okay? For…sex stuff. It is what it is.”

“Which is against protocol,” Dorian points out. John shakes his head and groans under his breath. “You know, I’m just being honest. You should be aware of the possible consequences.”

“And you should be aware that we were having a moment. But fine, yeah, you’re right.”

“I shouldn’t even be here as a friend.”

“Well,” John says, “you gonna tell the captain? Spill the beans and get yourself turned off and me fired?”

“I never really understood that phrase – ‘spill the beans’. Same with ‘let the cat out of the bag’. Regardless, no, I won’t be doing either of those things so you can settle down.”

John sits back and looks at the TV again, a newswoman predicting the weather forecast for the next month or so. Nothing dangerous and blue skies, at least for the next two weeks. Terrific.

“It’s going to be alright,” Dorian says from the other side of the couch.

John swallows. “I believe you.”

Empathy 101. Compassion in Three Easy Steps. How to Lose Jobs and Fuck Robots. John jokes with himself about his current situation but it’s not enough to comfort him completely. He glances over at Dorian and his heart loosens.

Maybe it’ll be easier than he thinks.


End file.
